Dawdling dolphins and caterwhalling koalas

 

After a quick pit stop in Sydney to pick up some clean clothes we headed north up the coast to Hawks Nest. Like the tourist I am, I found many delights along the way, the first being 'fauna bridges' over the freeway. Very similar to the ones we spent so long making in Kenya. Nice to know we werent being entirely nuts.

I was bewildered by multiple signs to 'U Turn Bay'. Until I realised it wasnt a beach, it was a direction for drivers. My brain really has turned to mush.

Hawks Nest turned out to be a beautiful coastal town with a distinct holiday feel without being tacky or overly touristy. Signs everywhere proclaim the presence of koalas. Just stopped myself asking "how do the koalas know that the sign says koala crossing?"

Stopped off to see the beach on which Amanda and Kirk got married before heading to meet the rest of the guys at the golf club where it was bingo night. Dont laugh. It was awesome, if extremely stressful and ultimately unfruitful.

 

Beautiful white sand with only a handful of people made for a great few days - despite the Australian insistence that everyone on the beach be in one place to avoid sharks/jellyfish/drowning/surfing accidents etc. This looks very odd to the average Brit who will walk miles to find a spot where they cant see anyone. But does make a certain amount of sense.

 

To my utter joy, within five minutes on the beach we had spotted a pod of dolphins. Plunged into the surf for a great ten minutes of being tossed around like a leaf. Emerged looking like a drowned rat with nose dripping like a tap. Elegance personified.

After lunch we headed to a different spot, round the corner on the lagoon. Usually a picture postcard of aqua water and blue skies we arrived in time for an epic electric storm (these seem to be becoming a motif of my stay so far). The rolling clouds and crackles lighting up the sky were in stark contrast to the calm waters and powdery sand. Twas gorgeous.

 

The next day (after a quick stop via a trashy tourist warehouse) we headed to the estuary, which boasts some great mangroves. You wade right up into them (tide so strong its a great workout!) and then float all the way back. This provided a great opportunity to get to know my new friend Raymond. Don't laugh. He is amazing. And the perfect partner to David's Gerald.

 

    Amanda, me and Raymond (the ray)                                           Gerald the giraffe

Went for fish and chips, perfectly timed to catch the sunset on the way home. As the sky faded from orange to red to pink, three more dolphins appeared. Despite valiant attempts, the fighting pelicans couldnt attract our attention away.

 

The trees surrounding the cabin were awash with lorekeets and other parrot like species. I was in heaven posturing with my camera. Wish they hadnt made so much noise though.









Although the noise of the birds was nothing to that of the male koala, whos mating call started up on our last night. Despite never seeing the culprit the strange chugging donkeyesque cry had the neighbours running out searching for a wild pig. Cue gales of maniacal laughter from us (more Balderdash had pushed us over the edge into hysteria...) This was further aided by the sunburn of the day reaching its peak...

 

 

Pudding and no pants

Christmas morning started very early. I was designated alarm person - shouted 'Jim, wake up, go cook the pig!' then fell asleep. Unfortunately, so did Jim. As luck would have it, Lacey the dog chose this moment to go nuts at a neighbouring mutt, rousing the whole household. At 5 am.

While the men put the pig on the spit, and others decided to start drinking rather earlier than usual, the rest of us mooched around trying desperately to get back to sleep. When I eventually rose, I promptly slipped and fell on the remains of my fancy dress costume from the night before.

One of the Berry family's Christmas customs is a fancy dress parade on Christmas Eve. Naturally our whole flat forgot. So I hastily put together a costume from what I had with me. Some makeup, a headtorch, and a plastic bag. Slim pickings. So while everyone else sparkled as Rudolph, or Santa's Little Helper, or a Christmas Star, I brought the mood down as a sweatshop elf. Clad in a bag, with dirt (eyeshadow) all over face, ratty hair and a headtorch. How... festive? But it won me a prize!

My contribution to the meal/table laying was the napkins. It was commented that I had turned the table into an Indian restaurant...

The day was spent eating. And eating again. And eating some more. The pork from the spit was fantastic, despite catching on fire (ironic as the Christmas pudding wouldnt...) There was a choice of bloody hundreds of puddings: Christmas pudding, gingerbread house, Christmas cake, Pavlova, fruit salad, icecream... the list goes on.

 

Still cant believe a normal everyday person made this!!!

 Someone murdered the Christmas cake...

The afternoon was either spent waltzing round the kitchen dancing with one of the many dogs, or trying to force them to wear antlers. Which was very original and amusing behaviour. And I wont hear otherwise...

 

The only down point was the absolutely torrential pissing rain. As a stupid pom I had dressed for summer. When questioned as to why I was shaking I obviously replied that I had no trousers. So I was followed for the rest of the day by people yelling "Beth has no pants!". Hmmph.

Finished off the day with a few hours of Balderdash. Laughed so much I was weeping. I would recommend it to anyone. A fantastic Christmas Day. Which left some a little worse for the wear...

Complete with 'festive' bottle cap

 

Blotto Grotto: Christmas Eve

A riotous family xmas eve. Children dressed as fairies and pirates (think I missed that bit of the Christmas story) getting stuck underfoot while the adults prepared a feast and the younger adults hung around semi clad, nipple rings on full display, and threw themselves off the deck into the river.

After the food, we graduated again towards the water, despite the epic thunder and lightning storm. Sitting/floating over the impromptu beach singing carols and marvelling at the discovery that wineglasses float. Neighbours put in requests. We responded with a spectacular lack of talent, especially for lyrics.

Everyone gathered to see Santa arrive in his boat bringing presrnts for the kids. Certain people were rather more excited by the firemans boat and its powerful hose. The annual festive flash ensued.

So, with the announcements of a proposal and a pregnancy (not the same couple...) in the same day it was a pretty awesome christmas eve. Not even ruined by the neighbours dog breaking in and peeing on the presents...

Christmas cheer

It has taken me quite a while, but I have finally stopped staring at people who talk to me in the street like they are some kind of psychopath. Yesterdays bus friend was a 60+ man who wished me and my family joy and prosperity over the Christmas period. Nawwwww. This was a very sweet sentiment. The hug which followed was rather less appreciated.

Our little flat family went on an excursion to see the Christmas lights. I was duly impressed. London residents just dont make the same effort...

With convenient Mr Whippy van parked outside...

 

 

The decorations in the city range from the stylish to the insanely tacky. The Santa suits stretched over the street lights hold one end of the range. This rather lovely umbrella set up was more welcome. The creepy blow up roof thing of Rudolph pulling off Santa's trousers is my fave so far.

 

 

 

They also do some great musical interludes to a busy day. From the salvos to the military:

 

 

and the warbling hobo to the innovative alcoholic...

 

 

After a hard days Xmas shopping on the Friday - all I wanted to do was nap. I wasnt alone in this.

 

 

But instead it was off to a 21st birthday/end of the world party. Dressed as a zombie. The glassy nature of my eyes are entirely due to playing goon pong. Like beer pong, but using very cheap white wine...

 

 

and the being called on the next morning to help with the making of the Christmas cake. Funnily enough, I wasnt in a particularly helpful state...

 

 









A duck called Douglas

Mixed few weeks of frantic job hunting only to discover that I am apparently not even qualified to hand out leaflets on the street. As I struggle with the notion of having to be someone who cleans windscreens at traffic lights it becomes increasingly strange that this time last year I was a corporate stooge...

So I fill the days with long wanderings, beach baking and visits to the wildlife centre to see my friends Sherman the wombat and most recently Douglas the duck.

Douglas gets touchy feely

Recent faux pas include the infamous faceplant off the bus (rain and flipflops do not mix) and trying to hail a taxi after a night out and inadvertently climbing into a policecar. Because they are identical. Which is not ideal.

Squizzy Sunday

Woken early (for a Sunday) by the salvos, standing outside in the street playing xmas carols. Nothing like a brass band rendition of rudolph the red nose reindeer to put you in a good mood!

Hot and sunny so piled in the ute (hopefully for the last time!) and headed to Clovelly for a swim. After chasing potential parking spaces round and round with Kirk getting increasingly annoyed and me making it worse by giggling (off they go - weeeeeee!) we eventually successfully pounced. Dived in to avoid any awkward teetering on the edge. Refreshing would be one way to describe the temp of the sea. But you felt great afterwards!

Had to give up on plans to sunbathe on the roof as gave the unpleasant sensation of being cooked from above and below  such was the heat radiating off the floor.

So settled in to watch the test match and discuss the merits of the name 'Squizzy' instead. Personally i'm not sure there are many.

All in all, a great Sunday!

Blondes, botox and bemused males

Its that time again. Time to get the roots redone as I'm starting to look like a tramp who accidentally fell into a vat of peroxide.

Headed to the local mall to remedy the problem. Not very exciting.

Until there was a commotion outside and someone smashed through the glass of the ATM as if assuming that he could just walk off with the cash inside.

We had all just finished giggling about that when a woman walked in. Having sat down she demanded that she wanted her previously dark hair to go the same colour as mine. Creepily white platinum blonde. And yes she kept pointing at me while she said it but then glaring when I looked up to work out why she was basically grabbing my hair. Meh, women.

The hairdresser tried her best. In her defence she did say that with her over-dyed, over-straightened hair it was a very very bad idea, while trying not to offend the woman to her face. But when the woman called her boyfriend in to help insist it was what she wanted, it left the salon with no choice.

Cue twenty minutes later she is screaming about how much her head hurts from the bleach and insisting it gets rinsed off. The look on the poor stylists face when clumps of hair start to come out in the basin was priceless.

I escaped just as they started to explain what had happened to the customer. Not a job I envied them.
I wasnt complaining, it certainly livened up an otherwise dull hour and cut short the elderly female explaining how her botox injections had 'slipped' resulting in her lopsided appearance to the poor middle aged stranger sitting next to her.

Anal Australia

First a disclaimer - this post in not meant to be offensive to Australia or Australians. It is merely an observation from an irrelevant foreigner.

So in London, when you want a really really heavy crazy night out, you head to one of the many Antipodean hangouts. Most notable is the church on Sunday. A few visits here and you become convinced that any night out in Australia will undoubtedly involve flaming shots, insane dancing and lots of people dressed as ninja turtles.

The reality so far is rather different. I'm not saying they arent good nights out. But any activity involving drinking over here is policed by so many rules it kind of ruins the buzz.

• If you appear remotely merry, you will be refused entry (can you imagine if this was the case with Infernos???)
• Drinking in the street a massive no-no. As I discovered to my peril. My wine was rapidly removed despite my protestations that it was 'medicinal'
• Queuing for a cab after a night out - any sitting in the street/on the curb (always the go to position after too many hours in stupid shoes) will result in being shouted at by the ever present bouncers/police/general jobsworths
• Being questioned as to how many drinks I had had already when ordering a round of shots - at prices like these you are never going to order shots while sober - think they need to work on their sales pitch...

I miss London
 

Bitten to shit at Bondi

Spent the weekend staying with friends at Bondi. Out Friday night at BJ (or Bondi Junction, as normal people call it) at a house club night. The discovery of a private karaoke room complete with dancers pole made the evening. Not sure the rest of the people there appreciated our dancing/singing though. Also rejoiced in dancing in the red laser beams. Sang wheels on the bus really really loudly as we waited to get home. Its the little things...

Passed out on the sofa on returning to the flat - leaving all the windows open to take the edge of the insufferable heat. Big mistake. Spent the next few hours slapping myself round the face everytime I heard the telltale whine of a mosquito. Eventually I dropped off thinking at least only my face and right arm were exposed.

The next day I found myself hideously disfigured by bites all over my right arm. Pretty.

(Only kidding - this isnt actually my arm...)